


Coming Home

by Fumm95



Series: Morning Glory (Jace Malcom & Satele Shan) [17]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Chapter 12 Fix-It, Comfort Sex, F/M, Force Ghost!Marr, Slow burn smutty oneshot, kotfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6988954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War with Zakuul, after the Odessen and the Outlander, Jace finally finds her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this ever since I first played Chapter 12 of KotFE and cried. A lot. A sequel of sorts to Before I Go, though you don't have to read that one in order to understand this. I just needed Jace to make things better.
> 
> Just fair warning: This is my first time writing smut.

“We are not alone.” She barely reacts as Marr materializes beside her, simply bowing her head and focusing her gaze on her folded hands even as her heart pounds.

“I believe we agreed that my personal quarters were to be private.” Her voice is quiet, thankfully deceptively calm in spite of the way her pulse quickens in recognition at the man she can sense approaching.

When he says nothing, only waits by her side with a patience that he certainly never had in life, she exhales. “I know,” is all she says in return and after another moment, he disappears in a now-familiar huff that means she likely won’t see him again for several hours.

Which, all things considered, is probably a good thing.

For weeks, she has been aware of the presence, following them as they traverse Wild Space, slowly catching up with each new stop, near enough so that she knows exactly who it is, but never near enough to meet.

At least, until now.

Really, it is her fault; if she had been more careful, perhaps, if she had truly wished to lose him, it would not be so difficult to disappear through a few well-planned hyperspace jumps. But…

She cannot lie, not to herself. Part of her wants to see him again, to hear for herself how he has been faring, to understand what could be so important as to draw him away from the Republic.

Part of her wants to tell him everything, her fears and misgivings, her self-recrimination and helplessness, to explain and be understood. To beg him to stay with her.

She frowns, taking a deep breath and settling onto her knees. It is impossible. She knows that. The Republic needs him, and he has never been the kind to walk away from duty.

Not like her.

With a shake of her head, she slows her breathing, settling into a meditative calm. She has long since made her choice. There is nothing she can do now but wait for him to arrive.

It seems like no time has passed before she senses his presence nearby, curious and somewhat hesitant, though with the streak of determination that has always characterized him. She has not spent enough time here to establish herself fully but she can sense his interest lingering on the hidden clearing, the small campsite, the extent to which she has left her mark already in her search for more information on the Force.

She can identify the moment he recognizes her ship; disbelief and hope and a thousand other emotions ripple outward, a flood that is at once chaotic and familiar, overwhelming and yet comforting. Her own feelings sing in return, confusion and apprehension and maybe even happiness, and she gets to her feet, moving to the entrance of her ship. He is there, she knows, waiting on the other side, considering and reconsidering.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door, watching as he slowly comes into view.

News from the Republic soon after she left indicated that they surrendered not long after her departure and that much is apparent; in the ensuing years, he has not changed much. More tired-looking, perhaps. Older, but she is also sure that the years have been kinder to him than to herself. No new scars, at least that she can see. That much she is certain of.

He is studying her with the same intensity, emotions dancing across his face faster than she can catch, and she wonders what he thinks, what he _sees_. Whether she is still recognizable after the years of her self-imposed exile.

“Satele?” His voice is rough, hoarse, but as familiar as ever. She has to fight to remain impassive at the hesitation in his expression when he lifts a hand as though to reach for her, dropping it back down a heartbeat later.

“Jace.”

He blinks, surprise mingled with relief flashing across his face, and she wonders whether he thinks she has completely forgotten about the Republic, about the Jedi Order. As if she could ever forget her home, her friends.

As if she could ever forget him.

“It's good to see you again,” she offers once she is certain she has full control over her voice, and he smiles, a look that fills her with warmth she hasn't felt in what feels like a lifetime.

“I…” He seems to shake himself, clearing his throat with an unnecessary amount of force before focusing back on her. His brow furrows as he reaches out again. “I— Your hair. It’s different.”

It is her turn to blink in surprise. There is no place for vanity among the Jedi, and even more so while traveling alone, when the only ones to see her in years have been the Outlander and Marr’s Force Ghost. And yet, even instinctively, she fingers the rough braids with a self-consciousness that is illogical, ridiculous. “It seemed appropriate at the time,” is all she can offer by way of explanation. “There was never any need or method to retain the Grand Master’s appearance.”

“No, no. That's not what I meant. It looks… I mean, you look… well.”

For a moment, she can only stand, unsure of what to make of the words that must be a bold-faced lie, of his attempts at making conversation and reconnecting. Of him, present and here, with her instead of with the Republic. Not a dream or a figment of her imagination.

Uncertainty is clear in his posture as he shifts his weight under her gaze, and she realizes that she cannot help but smile, the expression feeling oddly foreign on her face after spending so long alone. “Come in?”

She waits for a nod before turning, feeling him follow close behind. It is the same ship that she has had for years, ever since the end of the Great Galactic War, and she doesn’t need to see him to know that he is taking in as much as he can in spite of his attempt at nonchalance. She pauses before the collection of books and notes she has laid out, piled haphazardly from her most recent research, with a tiny grimace; it has been too long since anyone but herself has had to find anything in the small space and it shows.

Jace doesn't seem to notice, fingers skimming over the leather-bound covers of a few books as he reads the titles silently. “Master Darach?”

She nods, not trusting her voice. The young Jedi Padawan and Republic corporal from the Invasion of Korriban feel like entirely different people, still full of life and fire, with a lifetime of opportunities and happiness and hope stretching before them. Nothing like the tired Supreme Commander she sees and the resigned, broken woman she knows she has become.

But his eyes still seem to soften with understanding and compassion, as though he, too, is remembering the events from decades earlier, can still see something worthwhile in the jaded exile before him. As though, in spite of everything, he might still care.

The sound of faint rustling from behind her reminds her that they are not entirely alone and she is not sure whether she’s thankful or annoyed that Marr drew on her power enough to make himself solid for the sole purpose of alerting her to his presence as inconspicuously as possible. Likely both.

But the only place on the ship that she has been promised privacy is…

She swallows hard, suddenly wishing that she had thought ahead more; at this point, she wouldn’t past it Marr to show up in the middle of a conversation not meant to be overheard, especially not by him, intentional or not. But then again, she had not thought that it would be necessary to ensure privacy for more than herself.

And it isn't like Jace would care anymore, not after everything.

“Satele?” She jumps as a gentle hand brushes against her arm, the touch light but firm, warm even through the worn cloth. _Real_.

Dark eyes focus on her and she forces a smile at the concern in his expression, doing her best to hide how she is shaking. “My apologies. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

She shifts to face him more fully and he retracts his hand as though burned but even so, the warm, tingling sensation lingers. Part of her wonders if he feels it too; his hand twitches by his side, flexing before curling into a loose fist. It is so casual, so natural, that she isn't sure if he even knows what he is doing. But she has always been far too aware of him.

What is she thinking about?

_You_. The word nearly slips out before she catches herself. Even if it is the truth, she doubts it is something he wants to hear anymore. Not after all of the lies and pain and hurt of their youth. He is far more forgiving than she deserves, but she cannot bear the thought of causing him more pain, not when she can prevent it.

“Satele?” he says again and this time, she is prepared, tenses to keep herself from trembling at the physical contact. He notices; his expression seems to flicker at the stiffness of her arm under his fingers and he pulls away even faster.

She forces a smile to her lips, wondering vaguely whether it looks more authentic than it feels, whether her muscles even _remember_ how to consciously form a real one. “Sorry, I—”

Rustling again, louder this time, and she barely restrains the urge to turn and glare at the source. Even as a ghost, Marr never takes off his mask but she doesn't need him to in order to know that he is smirking.

Then again, it'd be near impossible to miss the awkwardness permeating the entire situation.

She sighs, not missing how worry etches wrinkles onto Jace’s brow. At this point, it is entirely possible that he is questioning her sanity and she can't really blame him if he is.

“I don’t— Let’s go somewhere else,” she suggests, her voice low. “It's not... private enough here.” At the questioning look in his eyes, she shakes her head. “It's a long story.”

He raises an eyebrow but acquiesces with a nod. “Lead the way.”

She steps around him, careful to avoid brushing against him but, even so, she moves close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off of him and she can barely restrain a shiver. For too long, the ship has been empty, void of any living presence other than hers and she has never realized just how _cold_ it is, being alone with a Force ghost. How warm and comforting and present _he_ is, an anchor in the chaos.

She has never realized how much she missed it, needed it. Needed him.

He remains close as she leads him across the flight deck, near enough that she can feel the air shift around him… or maybe that’s her imagination, her constant awareness of him. But it means she knows the moment he falters, his steps coming to a stumbling stop in the doorway to her quarters.

By the time she turns to look at him, he has schooled his expression into some semblance of control, though hints of a flush remain on his face. Then again, she has had considerably longer to prepare for the inevitable and even so, she can feel the tell-tale warmth of her own blush as she attempts to find a proper explanation.

“Darth Marr,” she settles on at last.

Whatever he was expecting, she knows it wasn’t that; he stares, confusion replacing the embarrassment lingering in his eyes. “Darth Marr is here?” He glances around wildly, as if expecting to see the Sith appearing out of nowhere, a hand reaching for a nonexistent weapon out of instinct.

If things weren’t so serious, his sudden vigilance would have been funny. As it is, she can’t quite stop her lips from twitching. “As a Force ghost. And he knows better than to come here.”

When Jace only manages to look more confused, she sighs and moves to sit on the edge of her bed, wishing she had thought to add a chair or a couch or _something_ for added comfort even as she motions for him to do the same. He settles beside her with apparent nonchalance, though she knows him better than that; the careful way he positions himself — ginger in his movements and cautious not to accidentally brush against her — belies his composure.

“So, Darth Marr is… dead?” he asks once they are situated.

“The Emperor killed him, right before _he_ was killed by the Outlander. As Marr tells it, he refused to bow down to Vitiate and was slain for it.”

She can see him processing the information, weighing it as believable and storing it away for further thought before he speaks again. “And he is here now.”

This time, she shrugs. “He wishes to find a way to bring down the Eternal Empire, as do I. He found me after…” At the not-quite-hidden pain that flits across Jace’s face, she falters. “He found me on Yavin IV, tracing Vitiate’s steps, and we eventually came to the agreement that neither the light nor the dark sides alone would be enough to combat Zakuul.”

He nods slowly. “So then…”

“Then we researched. Visited the sites where Vitiate’s powers have manifested, looked into alternatives to light and dark, of balance between the two.” It was, in some ways, unnervingly similar to her mother’s research on the Jedai Order and other force-users in the galaxy, and she says as much.

At the way his brow furrows as he listens, she recalls that she is no longer debating the details of the Force with Marr, or even teaching it to another Force-sensitive. Jace has always been entirely Force-blind, will not care for or understand the details, and she cuts herself off mid-sentence with an apologetic expression. “And recently, on Odessen, the Outlander found us and we shared our knowledge, trained them to prepare to face Arcann with it.”

He nods with an appreciative expression. “And now?”

There is a strange hope in his gaze and she suddenly finds that she cannot meet his eyes, cannot bear to see the disappointment that she knows she will find.

“And now our job is finished.” She focuses her gaze on a point on the opposite wall, doing her best to avoid eye contact. “I have been hoping to find out more about the balance between light and dark. So far, only Zakuul and Odessen have been planets which are perfectly neutral, but there might be ruins or signs of something older…”

She doesn't have to look at him to see his frown. “What about the rest of the galaxy?”

“What about it?” The words fall from her lips without thinking. “We _failed_ , Jace. Marr and I have both failed and countless — too many — have died for it.” She draws a shuddering breath, pretends she doesn’t notice the way he twitches as though to reach for her. “The rest of the galaxy may be better off without our interference. At least then…” She trails off before her voice can tremble.

“Satele…” His tone is soft, far gentler than she deserves. “I've told you before… It's not your fault. You were not alone in your decision, or did you forget all of the Republic soldiers fighting at your side?” He is trying for a teasing sound, she knows, something to turn the conversation lighthearted, but all she can see are those who fell to the Knights of Zakuul, cut down without even the Force to protect themselves.

“If I hadn't been so stubborn, so convinced that we were morally superior, if nothing else…” Disgust for herself drips from her words, thick and cloying.

“They could very well have slaughtered us anyway, to make a point.”

“But they didn't.”

“But it's still a possibility.” A prolonged exhale, and she knows him well enough to know he is running a frustrated hand through his hair as he weighs his words. “You know as well as I do that we can't prepare for everything. You were wrong in thinking we'd find a way to defeat Zakuul. But so was I. The people we lost, they gave their lives willingly.”

A shake of her head is not enough to drive the image of Neros, dark skin pallid with death, of Liir and Arggelios and Mirylin and so many others that she had trained, had _failed_ , from her mind. “But they might have lived if—”

“Satele.” This time, his voice is stern, as though he is lecturing a foolish recruit. “There is no use dwelling on the past. We can't change that, no matter what we do or how far we run.” His pointed look is enough for a hint of shame to rise in her chest, in spite of her protests. “But we can make sure their sacrifices are not in vain. That the Republic will endure.”

That she cannot deny. Even through all of her self-recrimination, all of the debates with herself, she has always been aware of the futility of her own departure, has been aware that it is fear and self-loathing, not duty, which keep her on the move.

When he speaks, his words are soft, so simply spoken that she has to look away. “Come back with me.”

She is silent, considering, for several heartbeats before turning to face him once more. “Why are you even here? Your place is with the Republic, not searching for some former Jedi.” She cannot quite keep the self-directed scorn out of her tone.

Something akin to anguish crosses his face as he sighs. “Because it's not the same. It's not the Republic anymore, not without you.” She opens her mouth to counter but he cuts her off, eyes fierce. “No, it's really not. Its ideals, its voice of reason. They're gone. The Republic needs you, Satele.” A sad smile twists his lips with old pain. “And I need you.” His voice drops to a plaintive whisper. “Please, come home.”

The loss and pain in his voice are enough to make her heart ache, to make her eyes fill with the tears that she has managed to keep at bay for years, and she looks down, tries to hide them as best she can. “I… I can't. Maybe once, but not anymore.”

_I'm not as strong as you_. She doesn't say it but then again, she doesn't need to; even Force-blind as he is, he understands her better than anyone ever has. Than anyone else ever will.

A gentle hand cups her face, drawing her gaze up to meet his, so full of tenderness and understanding and care that she can't breathe, can't do anything but _lean_ into his touch, lose herself in its depths. His palm is warm.

Calloused fingers brush across her cheek, wiping away wetness, and she realizes that she is crying, the tears she has repressed for so long escaping her control. Embarrassment bubbles in her chest, hot and prickly, but his expression doesn't change, all compassion and warmth and affection, as he allows her to compose herself, a source of stability as she finally lets herself to fall apart.

At some point, he has moved so he is no longer sitting beside her but instead kneeling before her, murmuring her name in a soft, calming mantra that she clings to as she fights to regain control over herself. The feel of his comfort, the weight of his sympathy… She has been Grand Master — the leader of the Jedi Order — for so many years that she can hardly remember the last time she didn't have to comfort others and hide her own pain, the last time she could let herself break.

For a brief moment, she can almost convince herself that he still cares.

When her breathing evens out, he offers her a tentative smile, small but with a thousand emotions lurking in the corners of his mouth. “You know, I never understood how you could do it. Not that I didn't think you were capable of leading the Jedi, certainly not that. But the responsibilities and stress when you can't look weak in front of your Order and have nobody else to turn to.” His voice is lighthearted, cheerful, but his gaze is impossibly serious. “You had the weight of the entire Order, of the entire Republic, on your shoulders and you bore it so well that nobody ever noticed until you were gone.” There is a hint of disappointment in his tone, in the way he shakes his head at himself, at the rest of the Republic.

“Satele,” and now his voice is soft and earnest as he takes her hand with his free one, thumb brushing lightly, soothingly, over her knuckles. “Satele, I know it's felt like it but you don't have to do this by yourself. Let me help you.” Something in his voice draws her gaze, even as she wants to shy away, her heart pounding with disbelief and nervous anticipation and, under everything else, _hope_. “You’re not alone. I promise.”

“I—” She swallows the renewed lump in her throat with some difficulty. There are a thousand questions she wants to ask but one escapes without thought. “Why?”

He hides his surprise well, though she knows him well enough that she can still see it reflected deep in his eyes. “‘Why?’” The word is light, casual, and at odds with the thoughtful expression he wears as he considers. “Because as Supreme Commander, I can understand your responsibilities and worries better than most. Because you deserve better than this. And...” He hesitates, thumb caressing her cheek, eyes studying her face like he is trying to memorize every change, and she wonders if he can feel her pulse racing as she tightens her fingers around his. “And because I still care about you.”

All she can do is stare, wonder for one brief moment if she's misheard, if she's dreaming, because it is not possible, not after everything that has happened, that he could still… But he’s there and it’s real and his gaze doesn’t waver; he continues watching her with the gentle, patient expression that she remembers from decades ago, that she had thought she would never see again. “Jace…”

She moves without thinking but he still seems to know her better than she knows herself; he straightens, rises to his feet, as she propels herself forward, into his arms. He is steady, firm, strong arms folding around her, holding her close as she clings to him.

His heartbeat sounds in her ear, loud and full of life. Real.

When he speaks again, she can feel his lips move against her hair. “I've never stopped caring, not even after Gell Mattar, after everything. I thought that maybe after thirty years… But then I saw you again and I knew it was impossible. And I finally convinced myself that I had to say something, damn the consequences, and you just… disappeared.” His tone roughens as he pulls away, ever so slightly, to look at her, to examine her like he still can't quite believe that it is her, that she is well. “And, for a moment, I thought that I had lost my chance forever, that I had lost _you_.”

His voice trembles audibly and she reaches up, feeling the rasp of stubble against her palm, trailing her fingers across old scars as she used to do, a lifetime ago. His eyes close as he leans into the touch, but she can still feel the happiness, the affection, in his every movement. In his heart.

“And I never want to feel that — to lose you — again.“ The words are a whisper but somehow louder than anything she has heard, vibrating in her veins, and she cannot speak, can only stretch up and slowly, hesitantly, press her lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he stiffens, and she nearly pulls away, an apology on her tongue as her mind races with doubt and self-recrimination. Was she wrong? Did she misunderstand what he was trying to tell her? Did she only make things worse?

Before she can make up her mind, he relaxes, shifting to cradle the back of her head with a gentle hand as her eyes flutter closed and she can feel herself melt against him when he pulls her closer, his movements cautious, hesitant, and oh so tender.

They separate an indeterminable amount of time later, though he remains close enough that she can feel his breath against her skin, deep and rough. His eyes remain closed for another breath, two, and she cannot help but feel a stab a guilt at the specter of their past, at how much she has clearly affected him — _hurt_ him — over the years. At how much better he deserves.

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs without thinking and his eyes snap open.

“For what?”

She forces a smile in spite of the way her stomach churns. “Everything.”

Understanding lurks in his gaze as he sighs, pulling away just far enough so that he can look her straight in the eyes. “I know,” he says simply. He leans in, brushing his lips against hers with a featherlight touch and moving away before she can respond. “And I forgive you.” Another kiss, just as brief as the last. “I promised that I would always forgive you.” Another, so light that she can barely feel it before he moves out of range again, his eyes full of amusement and joy and adoration that shoot through her veins and pool in her stomach with each brief caress. “That will never change.”

A short pause before he moves in again and this time, she is ready for him; she threads her fingers through his hair, grown so much longer since the last time she has seen him, holding him in place as she surges up to meet him. She can feel him smile against her mouth and then he is responding with equal fervor, as if he can feel the same connection, the same passion, resonating from across the decades, from the Great Galactic War and Alderaan. The arm around her waist tightens, anchoring her in place, his hand, splayed across her back, so warm that she can feel it through her robes.

He is breathing hard when they separate again and though it looks like he wants to speak, he takes a moment to compose himself. She, too, works to calm her breathing, a feat made harder by the constant stroke of his thumb against her cheek, tracing light, distracting circles on her skin.

“Come back with me,” he requests again and shame, lurking out of sight but not forgotten, claws its way up her throat until only his hand keeps her from turning away from his imploring gaze. “Come home.”

She hesitates, hardly able to meet his eyes. “The Outlander can…”

He is shaking his head before she can even finish talking. “The Outlander isn't allied with either the Republic or the Empire and you know it.”

When she says nothing, he sighs, untangling himself enough to sit back down on the bed, though his fingers reach for her hand, as if he is unwilling to let her go completely. After another moment, she moves to sit beside him, resisting the urge to fidget under the weight of his gaze.

“Satele…” he murmurs at last and there is something new in his eyes, something deeper and stronger, more earnest. Something that makes her tremble as he releases her hand and instead, brushes his knuckles down the curve of her cheek, along her jawline, down the exposed skin of her neck.

He smiles with a hint of pride as her breath catches in her throat at the way her skin _burns_ under his touch. A deep breath does nothing to quench the flames that set her nerves ablaze. She should not feel this way, should not encourage him… but then again, she is no longer the Grand Master, has left the Jedi Order behind. She is no longer bound by their Code and limitations. She can move closer, can reach out for him, can run her hands through his hair and kiss him. Can give in to her passions without hesitation, without fear of repercussion. Not anymore.

And so she does.

Unadulterated surprise dances across his face for a second as she shifts until there is no space between them, wanting — _needing_ — to feel his warmth. An arm wraps around her waist, pulls her flush against him, and she cannot suppress her gasp as he kisses her, hard and bruising. He presses the advantage, mouth hungry, _urgent_ , in its attentions.

It isn't until goosebumps prickle on her arms, until his skin is warm against her own, that she realizes he has maneuvered off her cloak, discarded for what feels like the first time in years. Her disguise, her protection against the past, is gone. In its wake, the brush of his fingers leaves trails of fire along her skin. They roar through her veins, pool in her stomach, leaving her wet and wanting.

“Jace…” She is panting when he pulls away, though he remains close enough that his breaths are warm against her skin. His eyes burn with an intensity, a need, that, she can feel even without the Force.

For a long second, he says nothing, only watches her with a stillness that is more disconcerting than anything she has seen thus far, and she reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

His smile is warm, filled with awe, as he continues to examine her, his free hand shifting to her chin, thumb brushing lightly, teasingly, over her lips. “Still hard to believe I'm not dreaming,” he murmurs, so softly she wonders whether he knows he is speaking out loud.

Without thinking, she tightens her fingers around his. “This is real.”

“I know.”

When he kisses her again, his mouth is firm, grounding, and she cannot hold back her gasp as he trails a finger down her throat. He presses the advantage, tongue slipping through her parted lips, heated and with a sort of desperation that she mirrors.

And yet his urgency is belied by the cautious tenderness in his fingers as he releases her hand, moving instead to her waist, unfastening her belt so fluidly that she hardly notices.

As he trails his fingers up, she can feel her skin tingling, even through the cloth, and she cannot suppress her trembling at the desire that floods her. He hesitates, uncertainty crossing his features when he pulls away, hands hovering as though he is suddenly afraid to touch.

“Satele?” His voice is hoarse, thick with want that only fans the flames roaring through her veins. “May I…?” He gestures vaguely towards her robe with a bashfulness that is entirely unfamiliar.

Her stomach flutters, though whether from excitement or nerves, she cannot tell, and she has to swallow before she can force her voice to work. “Yes.”

The smile she receives is soft, impossibly tender, and so very _him_ that she forgets to breathe, can only watch him, all concern and care, and… and something else that she must be imagining.

“Jace.” His name falls from her lips so naturally but his gaze softens as though it is something infinitely precious, as though he would never hear enough of it. “Jace, I—”

_Jace, I love you._

She cuts herself off before she can finish, her throat seeming to close around the words building in her chest, which she has known for so long, has wanted to say for so many years. Which fear has kept strangled back, both then and now.

He is still watching her, his eyes calm, patient, as if he would wait a thousand years if she asked it of him. His trust is enough to make her heart ache; in the face of his unfaltering loyalty, she is inadequate, completely undeserving.

“I've missed you,” she says at last. It is not what she wanted to say, but a confession nonetheless. “No matter where I was, I thought about you and…” She takes a deep breath, meets his gaze in spite of her overwhelming desire to look away. “And I missed you.”

For a second, he says nothing, only examines her, and then his smile becomes impossibly tender, as though he knows the words that she has kept closed in her heart. As though he might feel the same.

“I missed you too,” is all he says in return, however, and then he is kissing her again, light and sweet. Like there is nothing in the galaxy that he would rather do.

Her breath catches in her throat as he reaches for her, fingers fumbling at half-remembered clasps. He pauses, hesitation and concern clear on his face as his hands still. “Satele?”

She can read the unspoken question hanging between them — are you sure? — and the fact that he will never push her beyond her comfort level in the tenderness in his eyes. She knows, has long since known, that he will always wait for her, no matter how long it takes.

And she knows that she can wait no longer.

“Yes.” It is an exhale, a breath so quiet that she can scarcely hear it over the pounding of her heart, the frantic rush of blood through her veins. For a moment, as he stays frozen, she wonders if he even heard it, whether he is now regretting his offer.

And then he grins, his expression lighting up with joy and trust and affection, so much so that she can barely breathe. His whispered reply is barely any louder. “I'm glad.”

Gentle fingers ease her onto her back before returning to their task and she feels a sudden urge to turn away, to hide, as the clasps come apart, baring her to him for the first time in decades.

He is silent for a second, then two. She fights the urge to cover herself, wondering what he sees, what he thinks. The past years have taken their toll, she knows; she is no longer the woman in her prime she was on Alderaan, has been aged far too much by recent events, cannot possibly still have any sort of natural appeal. Not any longer.

But when she chances a glance at him, the wonder and admiration and… something that she dare not name, that she must be imagining, are enough to steal her breath away.

“Satele,” and her name is a prayer on his lips, hoarse and reverent. “Satele, you are _beautiful_.”

He runs a light finger across her skin, tracing the curve of her collarbone, ghosting down the valley between her breasts, his smile growing at the sibilant hiss of her breath. Heat floods from the trail, licking at her veins with _need_ to kiss, to touch.

Amusement flickers across his face when she grabs his hand, halting it in its path. It soon dissolves into seriousness threaded with desire as she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to his palm, feeling his pulse jump under her fingers.

He doesn't move when she releases him, watching her with eyes darkening with noticeably increasing hunger as she reaches for him again. Only when her trembling hands brush against the hem of his shirt does he react, shifting so she can pull it off.

It has been years, decades, since she has seen him like this, willingly open and exposed to her. He has not changed much in the years, still strong and toned. A few new scars, perhaps, but that is expected from years of combat. She runs her finger along a large gash, feeling muscles ripple under her touch. “How…?”

“Lucky shot.” She can feel the weight of his gaze, hot and full of desire, and he swallows as she gently pushes him onto his back. “Also his last.”

“I'm glad.” She smiles, warm and genuine, waiting for his attention. “You always did take too many risks.”

His laugh comes out somewhat strangled as she leans over, pausing before she ghosts her lips over his skin, tracing out the same path her finger made.

“I know,” he says simply. “But most of the time, they were well worth it.”

Judging from the tenderness in his gaze, he is no longer talking about injuries, and her breath hitches when he pulls her up and stops, his lips barely out of reach. “Like this,” he breathes and then he kisses her, light at first but growing more firm, more passionate when he flips her onto her back, body warm above hers.

She cannot quite suppress a whimper when he trails a hand down, fingertips brushing lightly against her neck, over her breasts and to her stomach. And then he pauses, surprise mixing with concern in his expression as he stares at her abdomen and the large, angry scars that stretch, raised against her skin, across her stomach.

When their eyes meet, his sorrow is clear. “What happened?”

“I thought to visit Zakuul for myself.” It is suddenly hard to look him in the eyes. Instead, she resists the urge to curl up and cover herself from his gaze, from the memories of the time. From her own failure.

“And they did this to you.” His voice is low but she can still hear the anger lurking underneath, the slight strain in his calm tone.

She nods. “The Knights. They fight with speed and ferocity born of their devotion to their empire and their emperor. I was… far too slow, too set in my ways, and I paid the price.” She quirks her lips into something resembling a smile, forcing a hint of lightheartedness into her tone. “Perhaps it was a sign that I am getting too old for this.”

His expression doesn't change at the jest, still solemn and sympathetic and perhaps even protective. She reaches out, gently cupping his face. “Jace…”

For another moment, he says nothing, only traces along them with a light finger, and she shudders under the touch. “You were lucky this didn’t kill you,” he says at last.

“I know.”

His exhale is shaky. “And so am I.”

As she watches, something akin of fear flashes across his face and she finds it almost too easy to pull him down beside her. “Jace, I—”

“I almost lost you.” He shifts, arms curling around her like he is trying to remind himself that she is still there, still with him. When he speaks again, his voice is rough with pain. “As soon as you walked away, I knew that you were leaving but I didn't want to believe it. And then nobody could find you and I couldn't know if you were well, or even alive. I was terrified, told myself you could be injured or dead, especially on your own against Zakuul.” His hand moves to ghost over the scars again. “And I was right. I should have stayed with you. And instead, I could have lost you and not even know about it.”

The anguish in his voice tears at her and she turns to kiss him, feeling his hold on her tighten. “You were needed with the Republic.” She pulls away enough to look him in the eyes, waits until she has his attention. “And Jace, we have always been able to find each other. I would have found a way to return to you, should the worst have happened.”

“Stars forbid,” he murmurs. “But we have, haven't we? On Korriban and Dantooine and Alderaan…”

“On Gell Mattar,” she adds, her voice very soft. “And even now, over thirty years later, after Makeb and Revan and Zakuul, and everything.”

“And never again.”

She stares at him as he boosts himself up so he is hovering above her, a familiar look of determination in his gaze. “Jace?”

In spite of their resolve, his eyes are soft, almost naked in their vulnerability. “I can't watch you leave, can't lose you. Not again.”

“Jace…” But before she can say more, he shakes his head, cutting her off.

“Let me stay with you.” He visibly shudders as he inhales but the brush of his mouth against hers is slow, every movement controlled.

“Let me protect you,” is whispered against her mouth before he trails his lips along her jawline.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs into her neck.

Her heart pounds as he pauses, lips warm against her pulse point. A sudden nip at the spot, just hard enough to leave a mark, makes her gasp.

His smile holds some amount of pride as he moves to kiss her again, harder, more urgently. “Satele, let me take care of you.”

By the time he slows his attentions, she is gasping for breath, and he sighs something into her mouth, so quietly that she can't make it out. Warm hands brush along her back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. For a moment, he fumbles, fingers working at mostly forgotten clasps, and then he grins, triumphantly sliding her breastband off and tossing it to the side.

Time seems to freeze under his stare, hot and heavy and hungry, so that heat floods her core. “You are…” Apparently at a loss for words, he shakes his head a little sheepishly and then kisses her again, swallowing her whimper as he cups a breast in a warm hand.

He smiles against her lips and she does not need to sense him through the Force to feel his satisfaction, his affection, while his fingers trace light circles on her skin. She gasps, fingers fisting into the sheets, when he brushes his thumb over her hardening nipple. He shifts, repeats the motions on her other breast, and she gives a low moan, body trembling from his attentions.

Without thinking, she reaches for him, running her fingers through his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. The sound, the desire that she senses from him, sends a jolt of lust through her veins.

“Jace…” His name is a moan of need as he pulls away, pausing as if to take in everything, to commit everything he sees to memory. He smirks in response, a distinctly cocky look that leaves her torn between scowling at him and wiping the arrogant expression off of his face.

That and all other coherent thought scatter as he settles on top of her, shifting his weight farther down, and skims his lips along her neck, slowing to plant a kiss on the hollow of her throat. She sighs at the contact, shifting her arms to settle around his neck in a light embrace. Her pulse races when he continues tracing downward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the valley between her breasts before hovering over her left nipple.

“Satele?” His breath, warm against her skin, sends shivers down her spine, strains at her already tenuous grip over her control.

She takes a deep breath, tries in vain to slow her breathing. “Yes,” she is all she can manage, voice strangled, but he grins as she curls her hands in his hair, tugging him down, and his lips close over her breast.

Her hands tighten reflexively, pulls at the dark curls, and her eyes flutter shut at the way his groan vibrates against her skin. She draws a serrated breath as she arches her back into him, unable to hold back a low whine when his tongue swirls around her nipple.

When he switches sides, the fingers on his free hand sliding agonizingly slowly down her stomach, she whimpers again, heat pulsing at her core, slickness drenching the cloth between her thighs. His responding chuckle is low, rumbling in his chest, as his fingers dance across her abdomen, leaving sparks in their wake.

“Ja—” She cuts herself with a muffled cry when he sucks lightly, her hips jerking involuntarily against him. She feels more than hears his quiet laugh, and then he pulls away, untangling himself from her grasp.

“Jace?” Genuine confusion trickles into her conscious, slowly replacing lust as she pushes herself onto her elbows up to watch. His answering smile somehow manages to be simultaneously nervous and reassuring as he removes his pants before kneeling beside her.

A groan escapes her lips as he runs a light finger along her waistband and she falls back, hands fisting in the sheets at the need to feel him on her core, to relieve the pressure building between her legs. The brush of his lips, the trail left by his tongue between her breasts, is at much too much and not enough, and her breath catches in her throat.

He continues tracing along her skin, pausing to drop wet, open-mouthed kisses against the scars, on her stomach, on the curves of her hips, until she groans, heat pulsing through her veins with every brush of his lips, every caress of his fingers against sensitive skin.

When his hands settle at her waist, stilling in their attentions, she bites back a whine. It turns into a strangled gasp when he brushes his fingers down, over her hips and down the sides of her legs until he reaches her boots. Gentle hands ease them off before trailing back up, legs trembling as he reaches the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, brushing teasingly, so lightly that she can barely feel it, over the apex of her thighs.

Deep breaths do nothing to quell the inferno roaring through her veins, and she reaches for him, her breath coming out as a strangled laugh when he lightly bats her hands away. His thumbs trace small circles on her hips as he watches her, that infuriating smirk back on his lips.

“Jace…” His name comes out half-growl, half-plea and for a moment, his own need flickers across his face, hungry enough that she shudders in his grasp.

Another heartbeat, and then he speaks, his voice low, dark with desire. “Up.”

Light pressure against the small of her back is indication enough and she raises her hips, sighing as he slides his hands down, slowly, tenderly, easing off her pants. His fingers trail, featherlight, over her skin, followed by the warm puff of his breath, leaving her bare and trembling.

His eyes are burning but somehow still so incredibly gentle when he shifts back up her body, heated against her hypersensitive skin, to cradle the back of her head with one hand. A quiet whimper escapes her throat, then she stretches up to kiss him as his free hand caresses her stomach before hesitating.

She gasps into his mouth as his hand creeps closer to where she has been aching to feel him. When he pauses again, fingers pressing lightly against her abdomen, she tenses, body trembling.

“May I?”

She can feel her cheeks burn as she nods. “Yes.”

Her hiss cuts into a strangled cry when he smiles, kissing her lightly, sweetly, and slips his hand under her panties, running a finger along her wet folds. Her hands fist in the sheets and she breaks away from his kiss, shuddering, as he slowly slides a finger into her.

Her breath hitches as his thumb creeps, ever so slowly, towards her clit, her hips jerking against his hand. He smirks at her, but she can see his control fraying, the hunger lurking underneath.

She sighs, eyes fluttering shut, when he draws light circles on her clit, feeling muscles twitch in response to the heat building at her core. Without thinking, she grinds against his hand, legs spreading wider, and he kisses her once, slowly, tenderly, before pulling away.

Her eyes snap open and she keens as his hands freeze, pulling away. He, too, is breathing hard but manages a smile before taking off the cloth, leaving her bare, his fingertips brushing over heated skin with just enough pressure to drive her mad.

An indeterminable amount of time later, he returns, his lips retracing their path down her body, against her lips, along the curve of her neck, between her breasts… She gasps as he pauses in his slow trek to lavish attention on each breast, his mouth warm against sensitive skin.

When he continues, skimming over her stomach, pressing soft kisses to her scars, she whines, pushing herself up onto her elbows to watch. Their eyes meet and her lips curve into a smile without thought, even as her heart pounds at the emotions lurking in his gaze, desire and joy and concern and… something else, something she still does not dare acknowledge. Something she is not sure she deserves.

Her thoughts scatter as he leans over, eyes still watching her with an intensity that makes it difficult to breathe, and blows lightly. An arm drapes over her hips prevents her from jerking upward as he runs his fingers through the damp hairs lining her entrance, just enough to drive her crazy.

“Jace…” She hardly recognizes her own voice, panting, _begging_ , and consumed by lust, but the differences barely register in the flood of need that she is drowning in. “Jace, please.”

His eyes are dark with desire when he adjusts until his head is positioned at the apex of her thighs, and then he, achingly slowly, runs his tongue along her slit.

A barely muffled scream escapes her lips as she arches, hips bucking against his restraining arm. She reaches for him, runs her hands through his hair and tugs until he groans, the vibrations against her skin seeming to shoot straight to her core.

Her legs tremble as he continues, closing reflexively around his head when he shifts his attention to where she needs him most. He moans with her when his mouth closed over the sensitive nub, tongue warm on its folds, and it takes several moments before the realization that the loud whimpers echoing in the room are hers trickles into her consciousness.

Pressure builds, hot and desperate, until every breath is a pant, a cry of need. She grinds against him, fingers clenched so tightly that she wonders for a brief moment if she is about to tear out strands of his hair, but then he slowly slides a finger into her and she cannot think, cannot do anything else but arch upward with a scream, feeling herself teetering on the verge of climax, so close and yet...

Sensitive skin twitches as he smiles, slowing his motions when her body stiffens. Instead, he turns his head, pressing a warm kiss to her inner thigh, the proximity and heat enough to make her keen.

“J-Jace, I…” Words stutter in her mouth as he swirls his tongue with just enough pressure to keep her on the edge. She gives in, gasping at the pulsing heat, feeling muscles relent in her fight to hold herself up, leaving her entirely at his mercy.

“Satele…” Her name, the emotion ejected into it, is almost too much and she freezes, ignoring the incessant ache between her legs, the way the word vibrates against her core. He pauses long enough that she groans. She can feel him smile against her, can feel herself twitch at the contact, and then he shifts, pressing featherlight kisses along her inner thighs. “Come for me, Satele.”

His voice, the tenderness and hunger, the resonance of his words against her skin, the crook of his fingers, are all too much, and his name leaves her mouth in a breathy scream as waves of pleasure crash over her.

When she can finally force her hands to loosen their vice-like grip, he moves back up to kiss her, leaving a trail of kisses and caresses in his wake. She moans, pulling him down on top of her, tasting herself on his lips, and he smiles against her mouth. “I've missed that.”

She laughs a little shakily as she struggles to catch her breath and the last waves of aftershocks arc through her system. “I've missed _you_.”

The simple words seem to light up his face, its warmth so radiant that she can only bask in it, in the adoration in his gaze and the rightness of being there, no longer alone. Of _him_.

She reaches out, running her fingers along his cheek, over the myriad of scars, unable to stop herself from smiling when he cups her hand in his, eyes incredibly tender. Her breath catches as he turns his head, pressing a light kiss to her palm.

His lips brush against her skin when he speaks, his wondering tone slightly muffled by her hand. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Jace…” And then she is kissing him again, pulling him close and clinging to him. He responds with equal fervor, holding her as if even lying so their bodies are pressing together is too far away.

It is enough for pressure to build once more at her core, hot and heavy under his touch. She shifts in response, trying to relieve some of the pressure, and he shudders as her leg brushes against his length.

She repeats the motion, more deliberately this time, and muscles twitch under his skin as he stiffens, hissing out a breath between clenched teeth. Through their bond, she can sense the cracks in his control, the need that threatens to completely shatter his composure.

He groans as she squirms into position, skin brushing teasingly against him, and stretches up to kiss him again. His mouth is hungry, tongue probing and hard, until she aches with the need to feel him inside her, completely filling her.

She pulls away, unable to suppress a smile when he moves to follow her. Instead, she runs her lips along the scars that stretch across his chest, flicking her tongue against his muscles until he moans, the sound shooting straight to her core.

Her pride is quickly replaced by an overwhelming wave of lust as he runs a finger along her folds, still wet from his earlier attentions, before shifting to trace light circles on her clit.

“Satele?” Uncertainty tugs at his brows as he watches her, eyes serious and with the slightest hint of insecurity. “Are you sure? You don't have to—”

She stretches to meet his lips with her own, cutting him off mid-sentence. His hesitation is still clear in the touch of his hold, the overly gentle pressure, and she takes his length in her hand, feeling him twitch at the contact.

Surprise darts across his face, so quickly that she almost misses it altogether, and she hesitates, suddenly unsure herself. “What about you?”

“Stars, yes.” His voice seems strained with barely suppressed desire and she smiles as she runs her fingers along the length of him, muscles flexing as he shakes against her, until...

“Enough.” The rough command only flames the inferno in her veins as he knocks her hand away and draws a shaky breath. He leans over, kisses her hard enough that teeth clack, and shifts, positioning himself so that his tip presses lightly against her entrance.

She can't quite suppress a moan at the contact, arching into him, but his every movement is slow, deliberate, as he watches her with tender eyes.

“Satele…” Her name is half groan, half prayer as it falls from his lips, his eyes closing as he sheathes himself in her completely. Its reverence tightens her chest, making it difficult to speak, to breathe, when he pauses, bliss mixed with adoration on his features. “Satele, you— I—”

Embarrassment darts across his faces and then he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss her, slow, soft, and with a thousand emotions lurking on the edges of his consciousness, that she can feel trickling through their bond.

She realizes, not for the first time, that she has lost her heart, that she has given it to him, perhaps decades ago. That _she_ is his, mind and soul.

He is her savior, her support. Her _life_. And she makes up her mind, dares to say what she has kept back for so long. What she, perhaps, has always felt, has always known.

“Jace.” She hesitates, waits until she has his full attention, dark eyes impossibly soft as he watches her. “Jace, I love you.”

For a moment, all she can hear is his ragged breathing, shock and disbelief passing over his features in quick succession before being replaced by pure wonder. “I—” His voice trembles, threatening to crack, and he swallows hard, clears his throat. “I love you too.” His inhale is shaky. “I’ve never stopped loving you, could never stop loving you.”

A hint of agony lurks in his voice, threatening to choke her with guilt, or maybe that is the lump in her throat as her eyes fill with tears. “Jace, I—”

He shakes his head, leans down to brush his lips against hers in a tender, lingering kiss. “I know,” he says simply, understanding and devotion clear in his gaze. “And the past is in the past. Just know that I have always loved you, from the start.”

“And I you.” And then she draws him down until he is on top of her, his lips pressed against the crook of her neck, and she shudders as he shifts inside her, every movement blissfully, agonizingly slow.

He flutters light kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat, at once both chaste and sensual, until she is gasping, writhing underneath him. His breath is warm on her skin and she shivers at the gentle scrape of teeth against her pulse point, at the way his whispered “I love you” vibrates against her skin.

She cannot restrain her whine when he kisses her again, mouth firm against hers, and then slowly draws out from her, his breath coming in harsh pants. Her hips buck in a futile attempt to keep him buried in her, needing to feel the pressure of him, the stretch from his length.

“J-Jace…” She stutters when he reaches between them, slides a finger gently over her clit, drawing tiny circles that chase away any words she might have added, drowning her in a torrent of lust.

She keens when he snaps his hips, burying himself roughly in her once more. His responding growl is muffled as he sinks his teeth lightly into her shoulder.

The part of her still capable of coherent thought is convinced that she will be driven half-mad by his patient, methodical attentions as he continues, his face contorted with pleasure. She reaches for him, pulls him down to kiss him, but he remains unmoved and she can only grind against him, his movements still remaining infuriatingly slow, just enough that she can feel the pressure building, agonizingly gradual, inner thighs slick with evidence of her need.

“Jace, please…” She is begging, nearly sobbing her plea and his ironclad control finally snaps with a groan. He thrusts against her, capturing her cry as he leans down and their teeth clash, hard and hungry.

She is already on edge, has been for what feels like an eternity. His name forms, dissipates into a moan, and it is all she can do to arch toward him, cling to him, as he rocks against her, harsh breathing and half-formed curses a symphony in her ear.

Everything draws taut when he slides a hand between them, lightly teasing over her clit, and she tenses around him with a scream of his name, her vision exploding into white.

As she tightens around him, he buries himself deep inside her with a wordless shout, his pleasure augmenting her own through their bond. He collapses beside her, still breathing hard, and drapes an arm over her waist.

She turns to face him, shifting until she lies flush against him, her head resting on his chest. His heartbeat sounds in her ear, strong and steady, the only sound in the ship, and it occurs to her that she would be perfectly happy to stay there forever.

To be with him forever.

When he moves to shift away, to get up, her eyes pop open and she grabs his arm, waits for him to meet her gaze, his confusion clear in his eyes. “No, _stay_. Please.”

A gesture and she lifts them both with the Force and tugs so the blanket falls over them, but she is talking about more than the immediate present. He smiles as he pulls her closer and cups her cheek with a gentle hand, his eyes full of joy and determination and, above else, _love_. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Her breath catches at the simple vow. A thousand statements vy for her attention, questions about the Republic and thoughts about her own plans and what they need to do, but for now, all that matters is one simple fact.

“I love you.”

His kiss is slow, sweet, and there is nothing in the galaxy more precious. “I know,” he murmurs against her lips. “I love you too. Always.”


End file.
